


ruins within ruins

by doodlingstories



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Gen, Ginny Weasley is a Horcrux, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Recovery, Torture, Violence, diverges from the end of the deathly hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 08:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17464025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlingstories/pseuds/doodlingstories
Summary: Tom Riddle falls to the ground, devoid of his former glory.Harry falls to the ground along with him.or; Dumbledore thought Harry Potter was the last Horcrux. He didn't take Ginny Weasley into account.





	ruins within ruins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moomoogoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moomoogoat/gifts).



> to; moomoogoat
> 
> (this was written for the secret santa, and although it's been literally a month since i sent it to moomoogoat, i'm publishing it now for you all to see lmao)

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ ”

“ _EXPELLIARMUS!_ ”

Green and red lights engulf the room, shining brighter than the sun that hadn’t shown itself for more than a year. The streaks of light compete in their final showdown, until finally, it flickers and then disappears entirely. 

Tom Riddle falls to the ground, devoid of his former glory.

Harry falls to the ground along with him.

 

 

 

 

Ginny screams after she watches them fall simultaneously to the ground. In between her own screams, she fails to notice her own power and magic defeating the Death Eaters that surround her.

(All that goes through her head when they fall is _Harry, Harry, Harry_.)

(Harry can’t help her now, though. He’s gone, and so is Voldemort.)

She screams and screams, pain prickling in her very bones, pain prickling in the back of her mind, pain prickling her pale skin. In the end, she blacks out, overwhelmed by the excruciating agony that fills her entire being.

 

 

 

 

“I- I don’t know what happened to her-” begins Hermione, distressed and depressed.

“One moment she was fine, watching their duel like everybody else-” continues Ron, looking just as distressed and depressed as Hermione, perhaps even more so (he has, after all, just lost his brother, and feels like he’s is about to lose his best friend and sister as well.).

“And then the Death Eaters just- and then she just _fell_ , just like that-”

Madam Pomfrey cuts them off by holding up her hand. It works like a charm.

Madam Pomfrey sighs heavily, before she asks, “Answer me honestly when I ask you… because I know the gist of what happened in Ms. Weasley’s first year here… could she still have a connection to _him_? 

The question makes the Weasleys and Hermione stop right in their tracks to think about the complications of the question they’ve just been asked; _could Ginny Weasley still have a connection to Voldemort?_

“Do you really think my little girl could- could still be connected to- to that-” Molly chokes out, tears streaming down her face like an overflowing river.

The nurse sighs, and says, “I’m just saying that there might be a chance that it’s all connected. And not just her, either. Harry, too. They fell at the same time, did they not?”

She continues, “Dark Magic is a tricky thing, Mrs. Weasley. Had Albus been alive, I’m sure he would’ve known what to do… but as we stand right now? There isn’t much I can do. I’m sorry.”

When Madam Pomfrey leaves to tend to the other patients, they’re left with more questions than answers.

 

 

 

 

Ginny wakes with a start. Her heart beats loudly against her chest, and she can feel the anxiety throbbing in her throat; a feeling she hasn’t felt since her first year at Hogwarts.

(“ _Dear Tom, I think I’m losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don’t know how they got there._ ”

“ _Dear Tom, I can’t remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I’ve got paint all down my front._ ”

“ _Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I’m pale and I’m not myself. I think he suspects me… There was another attack today and I don’t know where I was._ ”

“ _Tom, what am I going to do? I think I’m going mad… I think I’m the one attacking everyone, Tom!_ ”)

“Ginny?”

His voice makes Ginny whip her head around, strands of her hair falling in front of her eyes as she does so.

“Harry,” she breathes out, relieved at the sight of the unkempt black hair and bright green eyes she had grown to love so much, “ _What were you thinking?_ ”

He doesn’t answer her, though. He just avoids her eyes in shame, until he scrunches his eyes at his own surroundings.

It’s only then that Ginny notices they aren’t at Hogwarts. In fact, they don’t seem to be anywhere at all – the ground beneath them is nothing but a silvery white mist, and so is the air surrounding them.

“Harry… where are we?” asks Ginny, her first question already forgotten. Harry swallows, and rubs the back of his head.

“I’m… not sure. It looks a lot like where I talked to Dumbledore… except, not really.”

“Huh?” says Ginny confused, “Talked to- er- alright… Do you reckon this is like a limbo of sorts?” 

Harry mulls over that for a moment, “I- no. No, it’s not, because I can…” he seems confused, which really isn’t helping the situation. 

“You can what?”

“My scar,” Harry breathes out, “My scar isn’t hurting, but… I can _feel_ him, Ginny.”

Shivers run up her spine at the mention of _him_ , slithering coldly from the nape of her neck to the soles of her feet.

Ginny licks her lips, “And by him you mean…”

“Riddle, yeah.” Harry furrows his eyebrows.

“But… that’s not supposed to be possible… He told me my soul was my own,” Harry continues, obviously confused, “That I wouldn’t be able to feel him anymore… Dumbledore told me- _oh_.”

“What?” Ginny prompts. She didn’t know how, but she could feel that they were running out of time in wherever the hell it was that they were.

“Nothing, nothing… just- I guess it wasn’t real… but-”

“Can you stop speaking in half-sentences!” Ginny snaps, “I don’t understand a bloody thing about what’s going on, and your responses are giving me more questions than answers right now, Harry!”

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry, it’s just… I’m not much better off now, Ginny. I don’t know anything anymore… I thought I did, but I don’t, okay? Happy now?” he bites back, before he places his head in his palms in a helpless manner.

“And that still doesn’t explain what you are doing here… unless…”

“Unless what?” Ginny demands, hands on her hips. Harry seems reluctant to tell her what he thinks.

In the end, his reluctance doesn’t seem to matter, because he tells her anyways.

“Unless your soul is connected to Riddle, too.”

Ginny opens her mouth, but before she gets to ask what he means by that, darkness seems to swirl up from the white mist.

It swirls and swirls, circles around them, until it finally consumes them whole.

 

 

 

 

“Ah, I was wondering when you would come visit me.” says the portrait of Dumbledore, a sad smile barely visible underneath his silver beard. 

There are no smiles on Ron and Hermione’s faces; they are not looking to chat idly, but rather, they’re there looking for answers to questions they cannot answer.

“They’re not waking up.” Hermione blurts out, and despite the fact that she has not specified who she seems to be talking about, Dumbledore immediately understands.

“I presume you are speaking about young Harry and Ginevra?” Dumbledore asks softly. 

“Yes, I am, and I don’t understand, Professor, because I read every single book on Horcruxes that I could get my hands on, and not a single one of them mentions anything similar to this!” says Hermione exasperated. She goes on to explain the events in detail, and the desperation is clear in the tone of her voice. 

The portrait of the old man seems thoughtful for a minute, before he says, “As I’m sure you know, a lot of the books pertaining information about the horcrux’s nature is theoretical. Mainly because very few would dare to commit the acts needed to obtain such horrible objects. A lot of my own research was theoretical as well, in fact.” 

“And it would seem…” the deceased professor lets out a deep sigh, and looks as sullen as a portrait can be, “It would seem that my theories were wrong. A part of Voldemort continues to live on in both Ginevra and Harry, no matter how much I tried to reverse that fact.” 

“So, what you’re saying is…” says Ron slowly, “is that- is that-”

“Your best friend and your younger sister are Lord Voldemort’s last living Horcruxes. As long as they live, he continues to live on as well.”

“But Harry… he already died, didn’t he?” Hermione presses, face slowly morphing into a frown.

“Indeed, he did. But alas, Ginevra did not. And Harry, not quite like his other Horcruxes due to a number of reasons, continues to breathe because of all the complications. Due to _one_ complication, actually. I fear that… I fear that Lily’s love for Harry protected him when he needed it to fail.”

Before he can say anything else, however, the entrance to the Headmaster’s office slides open, revealing a very distressed Minerva McGonagall. 

“The Death Eaters came back,” She utters breathlessly, “They came back, despite Voldemort’s fall, and they- they took them. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were taken by the Death Eaters, and we couldn’t stop them.” 

They leave the room in a haste, words of their former Headmaster still lingering in the back of their minds.

 

 

 

 

When Ginny wakes (for real this time), she stays silent and with her eyes closed, listening to the sound of someone coughing. The coughing sounds familiar, and it makes her skin crawl once she realizes who is making the sound.

Her voice is silky yet slimy when she speaks, “Rodolphus. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Dolores,” Rodolphus greeted quietly, “Malfoy Manor can no longer be used as a base of operations. I know you are no official follower of our Lord, but I was wondering if you could have it in your heart to let us use your home-” 

“Oh! My, my, quite the favour you’re asking of me, don’t you think? Hm? Is that- _is that_ -”

“Indeed, it is, Dolores. Will you help us? We’ve got similar… conflict of interest, do we not?” 

“Well, don’t just stand there! In with you, all of you! And of course, I’ll help you – I hate that boy more than anything. Filthy, _filthy_ boy.”

Ginny doesn’t allow herself to breathe, just listens to the beat of her own heart drumming in her ears.

 

 

 

 

They carelessly throw Harry and Ginny in a room in the cellar. Ginny fakes sleep through it all, and gathers information she’s sure that they wouldn’t have uttered were she awake. She hears the click of the door, and immediately opens her eyes. 

The room is small and windowless, and the only source of light in the room is coming from a flickering torch on the wall. The other thing Ginny notices is that they’ve been left alone. It’s a foolish move, really, though Ginny counts it as a small blessing. She doesn’t even want to imagine being alone in a place like this; a place that was unfamiliar and unkind, with dark wizards looming around. 

Ginny turns to where Harry lays, and before she makes a move towards him, she takes in his appearance. Unlike in her pseudo-dream, he looks completely dishevelled and tousled. His unruly black hair is longer than she’s ever seen it before, and his body looks terribly undernourished. His clothes are dirty, as well as parts of his skin. His hands and face especially seem to have gone through the wringer.

But what breaks her heart is not his skinny frame, nor his dirtiness – no, what breaks her heart is all the new scars and cuts he now seems to have. His skin is covered in them, _littered_ in red marks. 

_What happened, Harry?_

Just as she’s about to shake him lightly to wake him up, she watches as he groans quietly, stirring awake all on his own.

“Harry?”

The sound of her voice seems to wake him up immediately – he shoots straight up into a sitting position, and startles at the sight of her.

“You’re really here.” He blinks.

Ginny licks her lips, “Yes. I am. Listen-”

Harry cuts her off with a frown etched upon his face, “This isn’t Hogwarts.”

“No. It isn’t. That’s just what I was about to tell you… and you need to promise you’re not going to blame yourself.” 

“I-” 

“ _Promise_.” she tells him sternly.

Harry gives her an inquiring look, and tells her reluctantly, “I promise.”

There was a pause; and, though only a heartbeat had gone by, Ginny suddenly felt as if the world had gone still.

She breaks her own illusions of a frozen world when she chooses to speak next.

“We… were kidnapped, and _no_ , Harry, before you ask me how, I don’t know how it happened.”

His eyes flicker with an emotion Ginny can’t quite put her finger on, “Kidnapped?”

“Yes.” 

“But-” 

“It was the Death Eaters. They brought us to Umbridge, her house… something about Malfoy Manor no longer being suitable as a place of operations.”

Harry seems to be at loss for words. And Ginny, with little else to say, stays silent. 

She doesn’t tell him the reason she was brought in. By the look on his face, though, he seems to have figured it out all on his own. 

(“ _And why is the girl here?_ ” Umbridge had demanded in that sweet voice of persuasion. 

“ _Potter would never break if we took him alone – she was easily accessible, knocked out cold just like he was._ ” 

And Umbridge had hummed in a delighted tone, clapped her hands together, and said, “ _You are quite lucky I never liked her. She is just like her brothers – rogue, devilish, dishonest. I do think punishment is in order for little Ms. Weasley._ ”)

 

 

 

 

An hour later, they hear the fumbling of keys right outside their door. Ginny lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when it finally swings open. A man with black hair, crazy eyes and a stoic posture, looks at them with a glint in his eyes, something akin to glee or joy. Ginny recognized this man, and the recognition made her heart sink to the bottom of her stomach. Rodolphus LeStrange, the husband of the newly deceased Bellatrix LeStrange who had died at the hand of her mother. 

“Right, then,” he says – unlike Bellatrix, Rodolphus LeStrange seemed quite serious. And for some reason, that didn’t bode well with Ginny.

Fear trickled down her neck, and Ginny could feel something like a lump forming in her throat. _Has it always been this difficult to breathe?_ Ginny certainly didn’t think so.

The Death Eater looked down on Ginny, and a grin slowly made way to his face, “Time for us to have some fun with you, I reckon.”

“ _NO!_ ”

Ginny swallows.

 _Have you not gone through enough, Harry? Let me do this for you. Let me, because I have suffered far less, and you have suffered far more. Let me do this for you. Let me do us justice, so a balance can be made. Let me do this for you._ She doesn’t tell him this; only tells him that it is fine, only tells him that she’d rather it be her than him.

“It’s fine, Harry. We’ve been through worse, haven’t we?” Ginny doesn’t believe her own words, but she says them anyways.

(He doesn’t fall for her lies. It wasn’t fine, and it would never be fine.)

Rodolphus LeStrange hauls Ginny up on her feet, and barks at her to move.

She glances back at Harry, who is still chained and screaming her name. 

“ _TAKE ME INSTEAD! NO- PLEASE DON’T, I’LL DO ANYTHING, I’LL DO ANYTHING!_ ” 

The door closes, and his voice is now muffled by the barrier between them. 

They drag her upstairs. She counts her minutes, and closes her eyes.

 

 

 

 

The screams tear on her own throat, and she can feel herself weakening by the minute. The pain she feels now is nothing compared to the day of the battle. It’s sharper, like the feeling of a newly sharpened knife repeatedly stabbing her through her heart.

Ginny can feel the torture tearing her apart, but she refuses to back down.

(Is it stupidity, she wonders, to resist when it could be so easy just giving up?)

(Words echo in her head, words once uttered by Albus Dumbledore, about dark times and rights and wrongs.)

(“ _Dark times lie ahead of us and there will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right._ ” he’d said, warning his own students of what was to come. Had he known then, that this was to be her fate?)

 

 

 

 

“Ginny?” Harry utters softly, arm reaching for hers. She sniffles, but doesn’t answer.

He traces a finger from her hand to her shoulder, and Ginny shudders. He shuffles closer to where she rests against the wall, and continues trailing his finger up towards her neck, then her face. The finger ends up resting on her cheek – he ends up cupping her face with his hand, drawing her closer.

“I’m so sorry…” he mumbles, trembling.

Ginny turns her head towards him, and breathes out, “What?” 

“I’m sorry.” he now says, no longer mumbling. Ginny blinks at him. “I’m sorry that I-” 

“No.” 

“- brought- er- no?”

“It’s not your fault. You promised you wouldn’t blame yourself.” Ginny firmly tells him, though it comes out more like a croak due to how weak she is feeling.

“Right,” he breathes out, “not my fault.”

Ginny nods. _Not Harry’s fault_.

They hear the sound of heavy footsteps, and know that their undisturbed time together has been cut short.

This time, they take Harry.

Ginny screams.

 

 

 

 

“ _WHERE IS HE! WHERE HAS THE DARK LORD GONE! CRUCIO!_ ” Rodolphus LeStrange bellows, the sound of his voice thunderous.

“I DON’T KNOW! I DON’T KNOW!” Harry screams and screams, because he doesn’t know, and he is telling the truth, he swears, _he swears_.

“Hem, hem!”

Her sickly-sweet smile does nothing to soften the pain Harry is feeling. Instead, it makes his stomach toss and turn, makes him remember the words she had made him write, the words that were now a scar on the back of his hand forever.

 _I must not tell lies_.

“Now, Mr. Potter. I thought I had taught you better than this, surely? Perhaps you need a little reminder, hm?”

She’s holding a pink knife, and walks towards Harry with a feral grin. She lowers the knife towards his chest. She carves the words just above his pecks, just above where his heart beats ever so fast against his chest.

 _I must not tell lies_.

Tears threaten to escape his eyes, but he does not cry; instead, he shakes like a depraved addict, or like a child who has been beaten but refuses to back down.

(And maybe that is all he is; a child, abused, misused and bruised.) 

“No tears? How… quaint. Well. Let’s give you another lesson, and see if this one does not sink in.” 

 _I must not tell lies_.

This time, the knife cuts deep into the back of his neck, penetrating the skin, slashing, slitting, emitting a pain he has never felt before. 

Harry feels his voice give out to the pain, and the screams fade out into the dark air that surrounds them.

(When the tears come, all that comes to Harry’s mind is this; _I did not tell lies._ )

 

 

 

 

Several days goes by, and nothing changes.

Out of the blue, when the Death Eaters are finished with them for the day, Ginny announces, “We need to set some rules.”

Harry blinks, “Er- rules? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Ginny, but it’s they who’ve captured us – not the other way around.”

Ginny snorts.

“I know that, you berk. I was just thinking, we’re probably gonna be here for a while… and, if we don’t want to end up doing the Death Eaters’ job for them and kill each other, I reckon we should make some rules.” 

Harry barks out a laugh, “Yeah – I don’t think Umbridge would be too miffed about that, though, would she?”

“Rule number one,” she says in that determined voice of hers that makes Harry smile, “No self-blaming.”

Harry’s smile instantly falls, “That’s not fair-”

“It goes for me, too,” Ginny snaps. Harry mulls it over, and ends up concurring.

(Ginny had confessed to him, once, that she still blamed herself for the Chamber of Secrets. When he’d told her it wasn’t her fault, she hadn’t believed him.

He found himself slightly more understanding of Ron and Hermione’s constant reminders that not everything was Harry’s fault, after that.)

“Rule number two…” she continues. The first few rules were serious enough. After number 69, though, (which was, according to Ginny, “ _Always wash your hands after eating. I wouldn’t want your fingers anywhere near my bits if you’ve still got chili on your hands. Actually, I don’t reckon I’d shag anyone who didn’t abide by that rule!_ ”) Harry was pretty certain that most of the rules would be forgotten. Which he was fine with; the funnier ones had served their purpose in keeping their spirits up, after all.

It was silly, to make up rules and abide to them as if their situation were no less than a stupid game.

Still, despite the silliness of it all, it was nice. Fun, even.

(In hindsight, Harry knew that it was this that kept him sane; the silly conversations and silent laughter that they shared.)

(“ _You’re the one who is weak,_ ” Harry had told Tom Riddle, no idea of what had yet to come, “ _You will never know love or friendship. And I feel sorry for you._ ”)

 

 

 

 

At night, they huddle up together near the torch on the wall in their shared room.

(Is it night, when they fall asleep in each other’s arms? Harry can’t be sure – it has been far too long since he has seen the sun shining above his head.)

“Harry?” Ginny whispers one night, her limbs tangled with his.

“Mm?”

“Neville’s parents didn’t last this long when they were being tortured, did they?” 

There’s a heavy silence that cloaks them both, until Harry responds, “No. No, they didn’t.”

“And yet… here _we_ are. Strange isn’t it? That we haven’t descended into insanity just yet. I know they still want information, and they’ll want to keep us somewhat sane, but still. Strange…” 

Harry knows she can feel his breath on the top of her head, uneven and ragged as it usually is. He evens out his breathing, all the while thinking about a response to her question. 

“Maybe. But in order to use the Cruciatus curse, you’ve got to really mean it. Maybe that’s why… I mean, I dunno.”

“Huh? Got to really mean it? Where’d you hear _that_?” 

“Something Bellatrix said, after she killed Sirius.”

Silence falls upon them once more. 

“Maybe you’ve gotta be completely off your rocker, to do it properly.”

Harry lets out a snort, “Yeah, maybe.” 

And maybe it was true. Rodolphus LeStrange didn’t seem _as_ crazy as Bellatrix had, and neither did any of the other Death Eaters who had partaken in their torture. Umbridge, though, hadn’t used the curse on any of them just yet. And, though he couldn’t know for sure, Harry was pretty certain that if Umbridge set her mind to it, she could be the one to descend them to madness. 

Harry shuddered at the thought, and didn’t know whether he should be grateful or not for the fact that Umbridge hadn’t used more than her knives to torture him.

He tries not to think about it, and forces himself to fall asleep.

(It’s in vain, though. She haunts him in his dreams, with her wicked knife and bloody quills. She haunts him in his dreams as she had done in his fifth year, as she will continue to do as long as Harry lives.)

 

 

 

 

The Burrow has had quiet days before. Quiet days, where the grief lingered in the air, thick and unwavering.

 _But this_ , Ron thinks, _this isn’t just grief_. 

He can feel the hopelessness, the absolute despondency, seeping through the cracks of both The Burrow and the residents that lived there. 

Emerald flames appearing in the fireplace snaps Ron out of his own mind. Ron looks at Kingsley with hope as he walks out of the fireplace. 

Kingsley shakes his head before Ron gets to open his mouth.

“I’m sorry… We’ve checked all known Death Eater locations.”

“All of them? Even Malfoy Manor? Even the houses of deceased Death Eaters?” Ron asks with a quivering voice.

Kingsley nods solemnly, “Even Malfoy Manor and houses of deceased Death Eaters.” 

There is a pause, until Kingsley continues, “We’ll keep looking.

“Please find them,” Ron begs, and glances at his parents’ room, “I’d do it myself but… I don’t think we can afford to… to…”

Kingsley steps inside the fireplace with the floo powder in hand. Right before he leaves, he tells Ron, “I’ll do my best.”

The words don’t comfort Ron in the slightest. 

Ron watches as the flames engulf Kingsley in its usual emerald hue.

(And if the colour of the flames reminds him of a certain green-eyed friend? Well, then that is purely a coincidence he won’t waste time thinking about.)

 

 

 

 

Harry has lost track of time. In the beginning, after the first few times they’d torture him, he tried to count the days. 

Now, he counts the times they drag Ginny out of the cell they share, instead.

Had his head been clear, he knows he could’ve worked out an escape. But his head isn’t clear - it’s fogged up and obscure, a side effect from all he’s had to endure, he’s sure.

Harry hears the familiar steps outside the door once more, and scrambles to get up on his feet, ready to catch Ginny should she fall from the grasp of who is holding her.

And as soon as they open the door, she does fall. Thankfully, she falls into Harry’s arms, and not onto the floor. The Death Eater sneers at his antics, and slams the door shut once more.

Harry quickly settles them both onto the floor, and checks her pulse. He lets out a deep breath when he feels it, nice and steady, underneath his fingertips. 

Vaguely, he hears someone say something before they close the door. It makes the hairs on Harry’s neck stand straight up.

“They’re not cracking. You promised they would crack!”

“Bellatrix was the one who had a knack for the Cruciatus. We’re gonna have to try something else.”

Harry had never believed in heaven, or anything related to what prayers might accomplish. Despite this, he finds himself silently praying that they won’t find something more painful than the Cruciatus. 

(He knows it’s a pipedream. And still, he prays. Prays for the pain to end, prays for them to get rescued, prays for them to get out, get out, _get out_.)

 

 

 

 

After two days of silence, where neither Harry nor Ginny were hauled away to be tortured, their capturers do something unexpected. They drag them both upstairs at the same time. 

Rodolphus LeStrange forces them down on their knees, heads facing downwards, and tells them to wait.

Wait for what, though? Ginny isn’t sure that she wants to know.

The answer for that question comes one minute later, however, when the toad-faced woman strolls casually in the room. Umbridge conjures up a chair and sits down. She uses her sweet time to get comfortable in the chair. 

Once she has decided that she’s comfortable enough, she smiles sweetly at Rodolphus LeStrange and says, “You may now begin, Rodolphus.”

He points his wand at Harry, and immediately Ginny understands that there is a difference in _knowing_ someone is getting tortured, and _seeing_ it in person.

But he doesn’t end up saying _Crucio_. Instead, he grins manically, and spits out, “ _Imperio_.”

Harry’s eyes go blank. Immediately, he stands up, spine straight and gaze fixed towards Rodolphus. 

“Hit the blood traitor.” he commands venomously.

Harry turns to Ginny. Ginny feels herself quivering under his cold and distant gaze, and reminds herself that _this is not Harry, this is not Harry, this is not Harry_. He gets ready to hit her, hand raised and fist closed, charging, charging, _charging_ – and then Harry hits _himself_.

“Won’t,” he gasps, and hits himself once more.

He falls to the floor in agony, and his hand seems to have a mind of its own, shifting towards Ginny and then back again, vibrating.

“What is- oh, _get out of my way!_ ” Umbridge snaps, displeased with the sight of Harry resisting the Curse that has been cast upon him. Rodolphus steps aside, letting Umbridge pass him so she can face Harry. 

“ _Crucio!_ ” the wretched witch curses him with a smile.

Harry’s hand stops flailing.

His scream is the worst sound Ginny has ever heard in her life. It’s gut-wrenching, heart-breaking and sickening all at once. Ginny thinks she might be sick.

 _Stop, stop, stop_. A tear escapes her eye, and she tries to look away from him, to at least be saved from having to remember that.

(It doesn’t help. His screams are still loud and clear, effectively piercing Ginny’s ears.) 

In the end, she can’t take it anymore.

“ _STOP! STOP TORTURING HIM!_ ” Ginny cries out, and she tries to reach for him, though she knows it is in vain. She feels someone hit her, and then they’re dragging her away by her restraints. They don’t drag her too far away from Harry – only far enough so she won’t be able to get near him.

She’s so focused on Harry that she doesn’t see the knife coming. Rodolphus slices her cheek once, startling her, before he tells her in a low voice, “Do you fancy a tattoo, Red?”

Before she can answer, he grabs her hand and forcefully exposes her arm.

“I’m thinking… blood traitor, carved into your pretty skin. Should fit you quite nicely, don’t you think?” 

In between his screams, she hears Harry’s plea, “ _DON’T TOUCH HER! I’LL- PLEASE! PLEASE…_ ”

Rodolphus glances over at Harry, and smirks. He shrugs unconcernedly, and drops the knife as well as the grip he’d had on Ginny, “If you insist, Potter.” 

His smirk slowly turns into a feral grin. He lifts his wand, points it at Ginny, and looks at Harry when he hisses, “ _Crucio._ ” 

And then, they’re both being tortured at the same time. They no longer have the comfort of knowing the other is safely tucked away in the cellar, since they’re now facing each other, looking at each other in pain.

(Later, Ginny will recognize that it is this, the agony of watching someone you love in pain, that sets off the chain of events that she’ll forever be grateful for.)

The pain she feels is something beyond endurance, something beyond _imagining_. It sharpened and sharpened, and she could not only feel it in her body, but she could now feel it in her heart.

And would it be this, watching Harry red and tired and beaten whilst she was feeling this torturous pain herself, that would effectively defeat her?

The pain escalates, and it’s eating her alive. Her body feels like it’s on fire, burning up, piece by piece, starting from the soles of her feet to the tips of her fingers. She screams and screams, and _Merlin_ , please, make it stop, make it stop, _make it stop_! 

She can faintly hear Harry scream from where he is perched over, kneeling right next to her.

Then, the most peculiar thing happens.

The black mist, the one that had engulfed them in their shared dream before they had woken up as captives, sizzles beneath her and Harry’s feet. 

Surprised by the mist, their capturers stop torturing them, instead aiming their wands in random directions, looking for the perpetrator. Ginny feels like she can finally breathe again, as if she’s just come up from the surface after being underwater for far too long.

(In hindsight, stopping the torture had been the biggest mistake they would ever make.)

There’s something in the back of her tormented mind telling her to hold onto Harry, to cling onto his arm.

And so, she does.

It takes all of her strength to elbow Rodolphus right in the gutter hard enough for him to buckle over – but she does it. She all but leaps towards Harry, though to the outsider it might’ve looked more like she was scrambling. 

Her fingertips reach Harry, and he’s here, he’s solid underneath her fingers. The pain stops existing at once, and she can finally breathe, she can finally feel, she can finally hear.

She can feel something radiating off of her, and looks up at Harry, only to see that he is _glowing_. There is black mist omitting from his entire being, and when Ginny looks down at her own hands, she notices the same kind of mist omitting from her as well.

“What the fuck-” Rodolphus’ eyes are big, and he begins backing away from them. His retreat it is to no avail.

The black mist sizzles, swirls and creates a whirlpool, until it finally twists itself together into a tiny ball of black on the tops of their heads. The ball stops sizzling. It’s eerily silent now, and no one dares to speak.

_BANG!_

The explosion radiating off of them rattles the entire house, effectively knocking everyone surrounding Harry and Ginny off their feet.

Flecks of dust descend softly all around them. The dark magic from before had practically evaporated into thin air, leaving nothing behind but the fainted bodies of Voldemort’s followers.

“What just…” Harry’s voice is a mere whisper. He doesn’t say anything else, just looks around the room in disbelief.

Harry snaps out of his stupefied state and clears his throat, “We need to get out of here. Any ideas?”

Ginny breathes out, eyes darting around the room for something to help them, maybe a fireplace and floo powder, or perhaps a door. And then she remembers – Harry can apparate. 

Ginny scurries over to Umbridge’s body, pries the wand from her still and cold hands. She doesn’t even bother to check whether the old hag is alive or not – Ginny is far beyond any feeling of compassion.

She limps back to Harry, holding the wand up, and tells him, “This’ll do, don’t you think?”

His eyes are still watching over the room in a cautious manner, “Yeah. Maybe…”

“Do you think they took our wands?” Harry suddenly asks.

Ginny turns to Harry, “Want me to try and summon them?” 

Harry simply nods. 

“ _Accio._ ” 

Their wands zoom through the room and into her hands. She didn’t know how much she had wanted her wand back until she feels her heart beat with what she can only describe as happiness. She gives Harry his wand, too, and she relishes in the small smile that makes way to his face. 

After they have tied up everyone they manage to find, they get ready to leave. Before they leave, however, Harry suddenly freezes. His hand slowly moves up to touch his scar.

“What?” Ginny asks him hurriedly, more than ready to leave the place behind.

Harry blinks, before he shakes his head and says, “Nothing… just that… I can’t feel him. Riddle, I mean.”

“You can’t?” 

“No. I can’t. He’s gone.” Harry breathes out shakily. Ginny doesn’t quite know what she’s supposed to respond to that. So, instead, she doesn’t respond at all. 

He grabs her hand, and disappears without looking back.

 

 

 

 

They apparate to the Burrow with a _crack_.

Ginny is exhausted beyond belief, but can’t feel anything but relief in her very bones when she hears her father’s voice and sees the familiar crooked house she knew as her home.

“ _What was that?_ ”

They’re leaning heavily on each other, supporting one another, and it’s difficult to walk in a straight line. She feels like her body is nothing but a pulp, and judging by the way Harry is moving, so does he. 

They’ve barely reached the front door before her mother rushes out of the house, wand at the ready in her right hand and a mug of tea in her left.

_CRASH!_

The mug she had been holding falls to the ground and breaks into thousands of fragments. Her mother makes a choked sound at the back of her throat. She seems immobile, only for the fraction of a moment, before she all but runs towards them.

“WAIT! They could be someone else!” Ron, always the voice of reason, yells out behind her. All the Weasley’s are outside the house now, wands pointed at Harry and Ginny as if they were enemies.

Ginny feels like crying. They’re all there (except Fred – but she won’t think about that now, not when she’s got other things to think about). Her mother stands at the front of it all, with her usual worn-down robes and fiery hair. Only, her hair looks knotted now, neglected almost. And her father doesn’t seem to fare much better, with a hollow expression plastered on his face.

Her brothers, in contrast, don’t seem worn down at all. Ron, with his wand pointed at them, stands in front of Hermione in a protective stance – he looks aggressive, or perhaps it is anger.

(Ginny knows the anger isn’t directed towards them; not really. The anger is directed at the world, for stealing so many people away from him at once.)

Bill and Charlie stand together, and they have their wands out as well. They stand right next to Fleur, who looks every bit resigned as she looks beautiful. 

And lastly, she sees George. But he doesn’t stand alone, like she would’ve believed. He stands firmly next to Percy, who, in the first time in Ginny’s living memory, has a mischievous sort of aggressiveness to him. 

“Oh, Ronald, they aren’t-” her mother begins, clearly ready to argue that they don’t need to be investigated.

“We don’t know that! We’ve been tricked before, haven’t we?” he counters angrily. 

“But-” 

“Molly, dear, Ron is right,” Her father says and grabs her mother by her elbow gently. He turns to Harry and Ginny, “If it’s you, I’d like some proof.”

Harry, who appeared to be quite happy with the fact that Ron and Arthur seemed wary, quickly tells them, “That’s alright. Just let me- er- _Expecto Patronum_!” 

The magnificent stag poured out of his wand in its usual silvery light, and pranced proudly around the room, until Harry flicked his wand once more and it disappeared.

“Security questions won’t be necessary, right? I’ve been told that a Patronus is as good as any other proof.”

They all fall silent, processing what they’re seeing in front of them, until –

“HARRY! GINNY!” Hermione all but cries out, running towards them. She embraces them both, tears streaming down her face. The other Weasley’s follow mere seconds after Hermione, and soon they’re all participating in a group hug. 

Ginny laughs lightly, albeit a bit wearily, and knows that happiness is radiating off of her. She doesn’t need to look at Harry to know that he feels the same.

“We thought- we thought-” her mother cries, still holding her tight.

“Bloody hell!” Ron breathes out after he lets go of them, a huge relieved smile on his face, “It’s really you? It’s- you’re really here? This isn’t some sick nightmare?”

“I can pinch you, if you want,” Ginny says with a tired and worn smile.

Harry’s lips quirk slightly, “Nightmare? I know you’re sick of me after camping together for a year, but surely you dreamt of me outside of your nightmares?”

“Shut up,” Ron laughs cheerfully.

More than ready to smother them with affection, her mother rushes them all inside to the kitchen, muttering about how thin they all were and how she was gonna make sure they’d put on a few pounds before long.

Ginny is about to sit down, when she suddenly realises something. She hadn’t felt the pang of familiarity she usually felt whenever she came home to the Burrow. Wasn’t she home now? Wasn’t she supposed to feel _something_ , instead of nothing? Noticing her frown, Harry puts his hand on her shoulder, thumb rubbing circles ever so slightly. 

“Ginny?” Harry says her name so only she can hear him, and she is grateful for it. 

“Just thinking.” she tells him. Ginny didn’t think she’d find the answers to her questions so soon; but, the moment she looks at Harry, she _knows_. 

“About what?” he asks her curiously. Ginny gives him an easy smile, and sits down in the chair next to him. 

“The true meaning of home, and us finally coming home.”

“Oh? And what’s that? The true meaning of home, I mean.”

This is what she tells him: “That home isn’t just a place. It’s people, people we love, who are truly our home.”

Then she snorts, and continues wryly, “Merlin, I’m talking just like one of those dunces in mum’s novels. If I ever say something stupidly cliched as that ever again, feel free to hit me, Harry.”

This is what she doesn’t tell him: _you are my home, Harry._

 

 

 

 

When Harry’s head hits the pillow, the first thought that crosses his mind is that the house feels strangely empty despite the number of residents it currently contains.

Harry lays in the bed where Fred once used to sleep, long before everything had gone to shit.

Harry is no idiot. He knows exactly why he and Ron have been relocated to sleep here, instead of in Ron’s room where they usually slept whenever Harry intruded on the Weasleys. But George had insisted on a room-swap, uttering nonsense about changes of scenery; as if they weren’t able to see the tearstains that seemed to be a permanent thing on his cheeks.

And Ron, being the good-hearted person that he was, had agreed, and simply grumbled out that if it was a prank then George would come to regret it.

(Was it selfish of Harry to wish that Ron hadn’t agreed to the swap?)

( _It was. It was. It was._ )

(Stop being selfish, stop being selfish, _stop being selfish_.)

Ron’s snores were no longer too-familiar to Harry. Not anymore. And how strange, Harry thinks, that he is now more familiar with Ginny’s heavy breathing despite only having slept next to her for no more than two weeks.

With a heavy sigh, Harry wills all thoughts away from his mind, and forces himself to sleep. 

Harry feels like he’s on the brink of sleep, falling, falling, falling, until reality pulls him back in, back to the all-consuming insomnia that had taken up most of his nights since the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts. In the end, he doesn’t fall asleep.

He can practically hear the voices and see the faces that had brought him back to reality.

( _Wotcher, Harry_ , she says, and then she’s gone, in the blink of an eye.

 _What you fear most of all is fear_ , he says, and then he’s gone, in the blink of an eye.

 _You’re joking, Perce! You are actually joking, Percy… I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were –_ , he says, and then he’s gone, in the blink of an eye.) 

He can see their names, too, whirling around in his head. Is it a mantra, he wonders, a mantra to keep him awake and guilt-ridden? 

(Cedric. Sirius. Dobby. Fred. Tonks. Lupin. Cedric. Sirius. Dobby. Fred. Tonks. Lupin. _Cedric. Sirius. Dobby. Fred. Tonks. Lupin._ )

Staring at the ceiling, he silently prayed that Ginny’s nights were better than his.

(He knew they wouldn’t be, but he prayed all the same.)

 

 

 

 

Ginny never would’ve thought it would be difficult to return back to her normal life.

Hard? Yes. Emotional? Absolutely. Difficult? No chance in hell.

In hindsight, she knows she was foolish to think that it wouldn’t be difficult. And out loud, she wouldn’t go as far as to say that she’d gotten used to the small cellar she’d been locked up in – except, she _had_ gotten used to it, she _had_ gotten used to sleeping on the hard and cold floor, she _had_ gotten used to sleeping next to another exhausted human being.

And so, she tries to laugh the pain away just like George had been doing since she’d gotten back. She tries, she tries so goddamned hard. It doesn’t take, though. Instead, she just manages to smile washed-out smiles, fist clenched and throat thick with tears that had yet to spill.

(The tears come out at night, when she is alone and curled up in her room. The tears come out at night. They come out silent, the way Harry had taught her, and the way the Dursleys had unknowingly taught Harry. The tears come out at night, and they never seemed to stop, not until she was fast asleep.

She sleeps for only a few hours before the nightmares wake her up. And then she’s back to square one.)

 

 

 

 

Harry and Ginny tell them what happened to them on the 4th day after returning back home. 

The story-telling goes well, for the most part. They manage to keep it fairly together whilst telling the tale; never revealing just how much pain they had endured, only telling their family that they had endured _some_ pain, mostly focusing on the escaping bit of the tale, and that now it was over. And Molly, whom they knew would cry even before they began their tale, is sobbing softly into Arthur’s shoulder. 

It goes well, that is, until Harry says something that makes Ginny explode. 

“I’m sorry.”

Arthur frowns, “Sorry? Sorry about what, son?”

Harry looks down at his twitching hands and bites the inside of his cheek, “They wouldn’t have taken Ginny, hadn’t it been for me. You’ve all done so much for me, and I keep bringing this- this _shite_ into your lives, and-”

“ _Excuse me._ ” Ginny is seething, with her nostrils flaring and her cheeks turning the colour of her hair, “What did you just say?”

“I-” 

“You’d better not say what I think you’re gonna say, Harry,” she spits out, “because if you do, I’m gonna-”

“ _But it’s true!_ ” Harry retorts angrily, “It’s _true_! You know it is; they told us, they told me, they-” 

Ginny grits her teeth, “ _They are death eaters, Harry._ They don’t give a flying fuck about-” 

“THEY TOOK ME BECAUSE THEY WANTED ME TO BREAK-” 

“ _AND YOU DIDN’T_! YOU DIDN’T BLOODY BREAK! THEY COULD’VE KILLED ME, COULD’VE THROWN ME OUT, COULD’VE LEFT ME CURSED AFTER THEY REALIZED YOU WOULDN’T BREAK, BUT- _THEY- DIDN’T_!” 

He watches her chest heave while she’s calming herself down.

Calmly, but still shaking, she asks him, “What was rule number one?”

“I- _what_?”

“Rule number one, Harry, the first rule I established while we were there.”

Harry deflates, and grumbles incoherently under his breath. 

“You’ll need to speak up so I can hear you.” Ginny tells him in a steady manner.

“I _said_ , no self-blaming.”

Ginny, looking quite pleased with herself, then says, “Right. And what were you doing just now?”

“I’m sorry.” he tells her in a whisper, as if he only wanted her to hear it. Her hand finds way to his face, softly holding it so he’ll look her in the eyes.

“… and?”

“… and it- it wasn’t my fault.”

He watches a thousand emotions flicker on her face in the span of a heartbeat. Eventually, all she says is this: “One day, you’ll actually believe it, too.”

Somehow, during their small row, they had failed to notice that the rest of the Weasleys (as well as Hermione) had scattered.

Ginny’s hand trials down from his face to his hand. She intertwines her fingers with his, and stands up.

“C’mon.” she motions her head towards where her room is, and Harry’s eyes widen. He wants to tell her that it’s a bad idea, being in her room, that her family might get the wrong impression, that they shouldn’t – but then he sees the blazing look in her eyes, the look he’d fallen for so long ago, before the Deathly Hallows, before the Carrows, before he’d gone head-to-head against Tom Riddle – 

In the end, he doesn’t argue.

 

 

 

 

Ron closes the door to his room quietly, stifling the sounds of Harry and Ginny’s loud voices.

Hermione gives Ron a knowing look, “She’ll get through to him. Ginny understands Harry better than most… and vice versa. You know that, right?”

Ron looks at Hermione, and tries to smother the overwhelming desire he has for her to focus on the topic at hand.

“Yeah…” he takes a step towards her, and regards her with a warmth he hadn’t let himself feel since the day they had disappeared, “It’s just… I can’t help them, y’know? Not with this. And it makes me feel so- so- so-”

“Helpless?”

“You always know the right words.”

Hermione takes the last step towards him and does what he’s wanted to do ever since the Battle of Hogwarts. 

The kiss is slow and sweet, and it’s nothing like the urgent kiss they had shared on that forsaken day, surrounded by death and misfortune. She breaks off the kiss in the same way she started it – slowly, as if they had all the time in the world.

She rests her forehead against his, and tells him, “There’s this saying…”

“Yeah?” he’s breathless, and though he can barely focus on anything due to the way his heart throbs painfully against his chest, he’ll always be able to focus on her.

“’Good things take time’.” she tells him.

“’Good things take time’?” he asks her, an eyebrow raised, because this is Hermione, and aren’t her favourite quotes usually much longer and much more profound?”

But then she just smiles and nods, and Ron realises that yes, she is right, because profound or not, good things did take time.

“Thank Merlin we’ve got loads of time ahead of us, then, right?” he says with a light smile.

He kisses her before she gets the chance to respond.

 

 

 

 

Harry and Ginny tangle themselves together on her bed, much like they had done in Umbridge’s cellar. Suddenly, for a fleeting moment, it feels like they haven’t left at all.

But then Harry feels the softness of the bed and sees the bright colour on the walls of her bedroom, and reminds himself that they are home and safe and in each other’s arms.

“I really did mean what I said, you know. I am sorry. I’ll try to do better. To get better.” he tells Ginny softly.

Her eyes, brown and rich and stunning, seem to glisten with something Harry has only seen a once before, when she had taken him to her room on his 17th birthday.  

Then, as way of answering his apology, her lips are on his, and she’s kissing him just like she had kissed him on his birthday, making him want more, more, _more_.

He kisses her back zealously, taking in her flowery scent and lovely warmth. Her mouth is warm, too, heating up along with the roaring beast he feels in his chest. His left hand reaches up to her hair, stroking it lightly, whilst his right hand finds way to her waist, keeping her close to his chest. Her hands sneak up into his untidy hair, her fingers running through his untidy locks.

Soon, her hands travel down his arms down to the hem of his shirt. They communicate wordlessly, and he tugs his shirt off swiftly. 

Ginny’s eyes twinkle mischievously, quip already ready on her tongue, “You’ve shown me yours. Want me to show you mine?” 

Harry’s heart makes a big jump, and he’s so speechless he can’t do anything but nod dumbly. 

She takes off her dress slowly. She makes a show of it, seducing him with an ease he didn’t know she possessed.

And – _Merlin’s balls_ , Harry thinks. _She hadn’t been wearing a bra_. She sits before him, clad in nothing but knickers to cover her bits. Harry feels his mouth go dry. He doesn’t even think before he places his hand over her breast, squeezing it lightly. Ginny closes her eyes, smiling slyly. He fondles her some more and slowly but surely, she begins moaning softly, keening towards him. 

Before he gets to do anything else, however, she parts away from him, only for a split second, and tells him, “Close the door and silence it.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He fumbles slightly, uses more spells than he needs to when locking it – and then they’re kissing once more. 

They sit up with her straddling him, pushing him into the headboard. Her fingers return to his hair. Then, she _tugs_. Harry moans into her mouth, and startles slightly at his own reaction. 

Ginny, however, smiles against his lips.

“Like that, do you?” she mutters.

He begins kissing her neck, and breathes, “Yes,” against her neck. He moves his lips to the back of her ear, kisses her there, too – and then she does something completely unexpected, something that makes Harry’s stomach clench in the most pleasant way –

She grinds down on him roughly, making them both moan at the same time. She repeats the motion, and this time, he can’t contain himself from thrusting his hips upwards. He’s painfully aware of his pants growing tight, and it’s perhaps this that makes him pause for a moment. 

“I- you- are we really gonna-” 

“ _Yes._ ” 

“But your family-” 

“- don’t have to know.”

“… You’re sure?” 

“Bloody hell, Harry- _yes,_ I’m sure.” 

“But what if-” 

“Why’d you think I got you to silence the door? These should come off, I think.”

Before he knows it, he’s in nothing but his underwear, breathing heavily against Ginny’s mouth. Her hand brushes against his prick, and though he’s still wearing his briefs, he feels all blood rush downwards. He stops kissing her in favour of catching his breath.

“Shouldn’t I do something for you first?” he asks her breathlessly, the corners of his mouth quirking slightly.

Ginny lights up and gives him a blinding grin, “Remembered that, did you?”

Harry laughs, “Well, I wouldn’t exactly forget that, now, would I? You kept reminding me in front of Ron all the time, remember?”

Without giving her any warning, Harry flips them over. Ginny yelps, “ _Harry!_ ” 

He pins her down underneath him and grins down at her, “Is that a complaint I hear?” 

“No,” Ginny quickly breathes out, “No, definitely not.”

He takes his time, kissing her softly and moving slowly downwards. He wants to remember this; remember her. He traces her seemingly infinite number of freckles with his tongue, and relishes in the small sounds she makes, frantic and loving and wanting all at the same time.

When he reaches her knickers, he doesn’t need to tell her – she lifts her hips, helps him take them off. It’s alarming, the way they seem to understand each other without saying a word – especially since they haven’t done anything like this before. 

(The furthest they had gotten when still in Hogwarts were messy hand jobs and hot kisses, stolen in between classes.)

He takes one look at her, and tells her, “I’ve never done this, so you’ll have to tell me what you like.” 

Ginny smiles, “I’ll let you know.” 

Harry nods. He lowers his mouth and, without any warning, licks her in one long stroke.

“Oh,” Ginny breathes, “Try- try- like that, yes. And- _yes, yes_ \- oh!” 

It takes him a fair few minutes before he gets it right.  

When he gets it right (when he’s sucking, licking, breathing her in as if she were his oxygen) her breathing seems to become more and more agitated by the minute. And without asking her, without any warning, he adds his semi-practiced fingers into the mix.

“Harry,” she moans. The harsh breaths seem to become louder and he can feel his own restraint wearing thinner by the minute. Then, she moans again, and he can’t help it, can’t but grind down on the bed in search of relief. Knowing he’d be embarrassed if he came by grinding on the mattress, Harry decides that he is gonna make it his mission to make her come in just under two minutes.

He makes her come in one.

(Harry has always been an overachiever, after all.) 

“ _Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry-_ ”

She comes undone so prettily, almost elegant in every way that Ginny usually was not, with an open mouth and a lifted back. She lets out a small sharp cry, her pink lips pouting in a way that makes Harry want to kiss her. 

He’s watching her, mesmerized by how beautiful she is even when she looks completely debauched. _How in Merlin’s name did he get so lucky?_ She’s still catching her breath when she raises her brow at him impatiently, “Well? Aren’t you gonna finish what you’ve started? I can see your hard-on from here, you know.” 

“Huh?” he closes his gaping mouth, “What d’you- oh. Oh!”

Ginny laughs, and tells him, “You’re lucky you’re cute, Potter. Kiss me, why don’t you?”

Smiling slightly at his own obliviousness, he hoists himself up and settles on top of her. He kisses her once more, albeit not as enthusiastic as he had before, since he can feel her sharp inhales against his mouth from her still catching her breath. He makes the kiss languid and slow so she can catch her breath. And sure enough, she does.

“Are we gonna shag with you still in your underwear?” she murmurs against his lips, now breathing normally. Harry doesn’t even hesitate – he takes off his underwear in a swift motion, never breaking away from her. 

“Maybe not…” he breathes against her neck, and nearly hisses when his length comes into contact with her lower stomach, “It would be impractical to shag with clothes on, wouldn’t it? Also, shouldn’t we get some- er- lubricant of sorts?”

She doesn’t answer; instead she grinds her hips against him, and it sends a jolt through Harry.

“I don’t think we’re gonna need that… I’m wet enough to fill up an entire pool.” she tells him with a mischievous grin.

“Oh.” he inhales sharply, “You- you- okay.”

He lines up on top of her. Slowly but surely, he sinks into her, feeling the warmth of her insides around him. 

“Merlin,” he shudders, because he can _feel_ her walls expanding around him. 

“Move,” she tells him with a gasp, and then bites her lower lip slightly.

He thrusts his hips, speed building up more and more, and all that goes through his head is _yes, yes, yes,_ and _Ginny, Ginny, Ginny_.

Then, she whimpers. Harry has seen her whimpers, has seen every variation there is; he knows that this particular whimper means she’s in pain. A deep-seated feeling of guilt flares up inside of him. He’d been so preoccupied with his own please that he’d completely negated hers.

“Sorry,” he stutters, and pauses what he’s doing, slightly distressed at the whimpering, “I’ll be gentler-”

“No, please- it’s- it’s a good kind of pain, I promise,” Ginny breathes out, nails scratching his back slightly whilst she holds him in place, “I just need to- adjust-”

And with that, she fumbles, trying to perch her leg over his back, gritting her teeth. Then, softly, she tells him, “C’mon.”

He understands, and carefully begins thrusting his hips again, slowly picking up more speed. Soon, they’re at the same pace once more, and Ginny – Ginny looks absolutely stunning, her long, red hair spread out on the pillow. She looks stunning also because of her expression. She looks so blissed out, with her mouth agape and her freckled chest heaving like her life depends on it. 

“ _Oh!_ ” she suddenly gasps.

“Keep doing that, please – oh Merlin, please, please–” 

He continues doing the fast-paced strokes, and he’s so close, he doesn’t think he can hold out any longer. He tells her this breathlessly, “Ginny- I’m-" 

“It’s fine, I already-”

“But-”

“ _Do it,_ ” she whispers seductively in his ear, “ _Come for me._ ”

He comes undone, just like that, with just three words to send him over the edge. His mind completely blanks, and it is complete bliss – he’s so far gone he barely notices Ginny coming for her second time as well. 

He stays on top of her like that until he can feel himself going soft inside of her. Slowly, he gets out of her and drapes the blanket that lay by their feet over them.

They settle into a snuggling position, one they’d perfected in the cellar. He plays with her hair, content and satiated, until a sobering thought washes over Harry. He abruptly stops playing with her hair, and shoots up in a sitting position. 

Ginny senses his panic and sits up as well, frantically asking him what’s wrong. 

Harry blurts out, “We forgot the contraceptive charm!”

Ginny gapes at him for thirty whole seconds, before she falls back on her pillow, laughing hysterically.

“It’s not- _stop laughing!_ It’s not funny! Your brothers are gonna murder me!”

She gasps for air, still shaking with laughter, and tells him, “Harry. It’s _fine_. I’m on the contraceptive _potion_. Much more reliable, and lasts for longer periods.” 

Harry feels the relief flooding over him and lets his head fall back on the pillow. 

“Oh, thank Merlin. I think I was about to have a heart attack.” 

He settles back into the position he’d previously been in, and goes back to play with her locks.

“Ginny?”

“Mm? What?”

“Did I ever tell you what my last thought was, before I died?” he asks her softly. 

She falls silent, before she changes her position so she can look him in the eyes. Her brown eyes meet his green ones. She licks her lips, and says, “No. Do I want to know?” 

“I dunno. Maybe…” 

“Maybe?” 

“It wasn’t anything bad. Just…” he takes a deep breath, and runs his fingers through his already messy hair. 

“Tell me, then.” 

She looks at him with the blazing look he’d never been able to resist, and so, he tells her the unadulterated truth. 

“My last thought was you.”

In response, she kisses him with everything she has.

(He can taste the saltiness of her tears, too, but doesn’t comment on it. It wasn’t wet, like his kiss with Cho had been. Her tears are not unpleasant, because he knows, deep down, that the tears streaming down Ginny’s face are tears of joy and happiness.)

 

 

 

 

When they get out of her room (because they were both hungry and wanted a snack), it’s way past midnight. Despite this, though, most of the Weasleys seem to be awake, sans Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

All of her brothers are sitting around the dinner table, and despite the fact that most of her brothers seem to be sporting amused looks, it feels oddly like an interrogation.

Harry feels his ears burn red with embarrassment; until Ginny takes his hand and squeezes lightly. All his worries fade away, just like that, with the squeeze of a hand. 

George, who is sporting the most wolfish grin Harry thinks he’s ever seen on his face, is the first one to address the elephant in the room.

“So…” George drawls.

“’So’ what?” Ginny snaps.

George’s wolfish grin morphs into a smirk. Then, he scrunches his face up, mouth wide open, and moans, “Oh, _Harry_! Yes, yes, _yes_! _Oh, please, take me! Like that, yes_ -” 

“Oh, shut up, you berk!” Ginny hits him. George doesn’t flinch at her aggravated touch. Instead, he throws his head back in laughter. Ginny glares at her brothers, who are all laughing their heads off, and though she’s sporting a sourly look on her face, Harry can see the corners of her mouth quirk ever so slightly.

“Wait-” Ginny furrows her eyebrows, and turns to Harry, “I thought you silenced the room!” 

“I did! I put up three different silencing charms and everything!” Harry blurts out his defence. His eyes widen when he realises his mistake, and he immediately backtracks, “Not that I- just that- er-”

“Oh, sod it. It doesn’t matter. Everyone was gonna find out one way or another anyways.”

His eyes flicker over at the rest of the Weasleys. He sees Ron glare at the ground, muttering incoherently under his breath, while most of the others just seem to be looking at them in amusement. Hermione, in contrast, gives him a glowing (and knowing) smile. 

Ginny doesn’t seem care about Harry’s stuttering. Instead she whips out her wand and points it pointedly at her brothers. 

“I _thought_ I would be able to have some sort of privacy in my own damned room, but apparently not…” she seems to be glowering, “So _… What did you do to my room?_ ” 

Percy, funnily enough, is the one to answer them, “I think someone cast some anti-charms on your doors and walls, judging by what you have told us.”

Ginny turns to George. George puts his hands up in the air, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline, “Wasn’t me, I swear. Wish it were me, though – it was brilliant! I’ve never seen mum and dad look so red in my entire life, and that’s counting the time me and Fred told mum about our joke shop!" 

“Well, if it wasn’t you, then who was it?”

The tips of Percy’s ears redden, and Harry feels his own mouth fall open without his own volition. 

“ _You?_ ” 

“Er- I may have cast a spell that prevented magic from being cast in Ginny’s room temporarily, yes…” 

George, however, is smiling from ear to ear, positively radiating happiness. 

“ _You_ pranked her, Perce? An honest to god prank? By golly, I didn’t know you had it in you!”

Percy winces, and lifts his arm to scratch the back of his head. Sheepishly, he says, “I- well, yes, okay, okay, it was me. I’m sorry, Ginny. It- it was all in good fun, really-”

There was a flash of light, and mere moments after bats were flying out of Percy’s nose. He yelped loudly, batting at the flying boogers that were emerging from his nose out of his face.

“I’ve never done that to Percy before,” Ginny muses calmly, as if Percy weren’t suffering from the hundreds of booger-bats that were coming out of his nose, “Never really had a good reason to, actually.”

Bill, Charlie, Ron and George howled with laughter, all of them telling through joyful tears how it was about time Ginny did that to Percy, too.

Harry just smiles while he watches the chaos of the Weasley siblings unfold in front of him. 

For some weird reason, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

There’s a heavy feeling in his chest, tugging, dragging, bringing him down. _It’s all your fault, it tells him. It’s all your fault. People are dead because of you. Fred is dead because of you. They’re faking happiness, and it’s all because of you._  

Harry ignores it. Because he is happy. _He is_. He’s got to be happy. He rid the world of evil, didn’t he? He rid the world of the worst kind of demon, didn’t he?

(The world will never get rid of demons. One leaves, dies at the hand of the light, and another emerges, out of the dark and into the open. Grindelwald had died at the hand of Dumbledore, and Voldemort had emerged soon thereafter. Harry had defeated Voldemort, and who was next? _What_ was next? 

It’s a never-ending cycle, forever in motion, everlasting and cruel.)

“Harry?” her voice snaps him out of his own head. He blinks.

“Sorry. Got lost in my head there for a second.”

The heavy feeling swells, filling up the space in his chest, swelling, swelling, darkening with shadows and sullen feelings –

Ginny touches his hand.

The darkness shrivels into oblivion, and his heart fills up with love at her fleeting touch.

 

 

 

 

(There are nights where, many days after the war, Harry wakes up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. There is no Tom Riddle to put the blame on, now. His nightmares are wholly and completely his own. 

Words rings in his ears, words of a conversation Harry didn’t know whether or not it had been real.

“ _Your soul is whole, and completely your own, Harry._ ” Dumbledore had told him with a broad smile.

 _If my soul is whole_ , Harry thinks, _then why does it feel like I’m still broken?_ )

 

 

 

 

Ginny slips carefully down the stairs long past midnight. Everyone has long since fallen asleep, safe and sound in their own beds. 

She settles down in front of the fireplace after placing a few pieces of wood there. She flicks her wand with practiced ease, and feels the sudden surge of heat hit her straight in the face.

It’s not particularly cold outside; but, it was cold enough that she could justify lighting a fire.

She sits there for half an hour before she notices Harry in the doorway, looking at her with softness in his gaze. Without saying anything, he settles down on the ground as well, not too far away from where Ginny sits.

“Can’t sleep?” she asks.

“No.”

The dim lighting from the fireplace flickers, and she notices Harry move slightly closer to where she’s sitting.

“You can sit right next to me if you want,” she tells him softly. He gives her a small smile. He moves even closer, moves so close that he is now thigh to thigh with her. She feels hyper-aware of him, and her heart skips a beat. It’s a nice feeling, Ginny thinks, to be hyper-aware of him in this way. A comforting feeling, even.

The feeling takes her back to her fifth year, when their happiness had been a fleeting yet oddly constant thing.

(She doesn’t miss the juxtaposition of it all. Instead, she revels in it, revels in the feeling she had thought was but a distant memory.)

They sit in silence, just enjoying the warmth of the fire and each other’s presence.

That is, until Harry breaks the silence.

“Are we gonna be okay?”

Ginny blinks. She turns her head slowly towards him with a contemplative look on her face.

“I think so. A little cracked, and a little beat down, maybe. Nothing we haven’t handled before, though, right?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes her hand, traces a finger along her fresh scars. Her skin tingles from his touch, and her heart beats loudly against her chest.

“Yeah. Nothing we haven’t handled before.”

 

 

 

 

In the morning, when the rest of the house wakes up, they’ll find Harry and Ginny soundly asleep on the floor in the living room. They’ll see their fingers intertwined, and they’ll see their heads resting against one another. 

But most of all, they’ll see the signs of healing, and that with time, they will no longer be ruins within ruins.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact, this was supposed to be around 3k words. 
> 
> lol.


End file.
